Lights out
by SlipperyDoorKnob
Summary: Follow two Hunters as they investigate why a town beyond Vale's walls has gone dark.


Author's Note: Hope you enjoy this. Chapters will be released whenever I finish them. If you find a grammar or spelling error please tell me so I can fix it, otherwise review if you want to be a cool guy. Until next time, bye, bye. 

Canary sat perched in the canopy, bowstring biting his aching fingers. Leaves rustled in a chill swept wind, masking the pounding of his heart. Vibrant green eyes flickered between pockets of shadow, and harsh short pants laboured from his lips. Watch had been dull, quiet; the way he liked it. Quiet and dull was easy; quiet and dull was safe. Fending off an ambush was not.

A clip of disturbance; a stick snapping the silence of the forest could be dismissed by the foolish. Canary was no fool, and while his mother may call him paranoid, he preferred cautious. Sticks did not go snapping themselves, well except for his Grandma's tales of Wendigos. While the old bat was half a foot in the grave and midstride a mental hospital, there was wisdom to her words. Sometimes.

Releasing tension in his bow to a half draw, he steeled his nerves; pushing the crazy eye, and manic stories of his Grandma from his mind's eye. A flight of fancy and a terribly wicked imagination made tempering his emotions a struggle; squash one thought and two sprung up in its place. Panic and terror were not the emotions of the wood, nor of the survivor. No, fear and caution were a survivor's bread and butter. Only dead men consorted with the former.

Seeking an anchor in the flood of ill-thoughts, his eyes latched onto his partner. Sleeping happily with a big, dumb grin half-covered by mussy brown hair his partner seemed none the wiser of happenings outside the realm of sleep. Ignoring the spot of drool and subsequent ember of annoyance that was trailing across his pillow, he repeated a familiar mantra. 'Wit's here. We can do this. I can do this', he repeated ad-nauseum.

Snapping from the warm embrace of self-comfort, Canary almost chocked on his own heart as a stick snapped, ringing like a gunshot in the hunter's ears. Far beyond the speed of an average man, the bow was taut, and an arrow fired. A whisper of a whistle signalled the arc of travel, and a dull wet thump the target.

Notching an arrow, relishing in the cold metallic tang on his fingers he strained his eyes and darted about the trees optically. 'Clear. Clear. Cle-wait…clear,' he mentally ran through, securing the perimeter.

Tense moments bled into seconds, then minutes. No sticks snapped, no arrows needed: nothing but swaying branches and a thundering chest. Adding to the performance, Canary stalked forth, muffled leather boots tapping a tree. Timing and careful placement of feet sent him gliding forth across the treetop, and over his victim's corpse.

The creature lay nestled in leaf litter, dull brown fur illuminated by stray motes of moonlight. Face locked in pain and eyes devoid of life, he deemed the animal dead. "A rabbit; scared half to death over a rabbit. Maybe mum was right…alright, little Wendigo, lets never tell Wit about this, yeah?" whispered Canary.

Carefully departing the tree and taking pains to soften his landing he inspected his soon to be breakfast. "Didn't pierce the gut and seemed to miss the heart. Arrow didn't snap, thank Oum," he muttered.

Running his hand across the warm fur of the rabbit, he trailed to its chest. Gently pressing on the corpse with one hand, he used another to extract his arrow. "Wit will cry tears of joy; hates rations about as much as Bullheads," whispered Canary, wiping the arrowhead clean across the pelt.

Flipping his wrist, he looked at his watch: a small and silver thing that failed to catch the light in a shimmer. "Just in time too," whispered Canary.

Standing, clutching the rabbit by its hind legs, he snuck a glance towards his partner. Karliah Wittlewhite or 'Wit', was a bear Faunus woman, and partner since orientation. More handsome than pretty, she was a cut of muscle that towered over most. Her physique and temperament mirrored her choice in armament; a great axe that mecha-shifted into a great club. Ranged combat was not Wit's concern, and between her semblance and himself, she scrapped by.

With a roll of his eyes, he crept towards his leather pack, rested against a felled tree and filled to the brim. Knuckles brushing a swath of moss, he opened the pack and rummaged through his belongings. With a silent heave, a canvas bagged mass was retrieved and secreted away and set between two opposing, log chairs.

Untying the bag, Canary unclothed the contents within and allowed a grin to light up his face. Reflected in his eye, a smattering of cooking utensils lay before him: cooking knives, pans, small pots and of course, the ever-important, canola oil. There was nothing worse than having food stick to the pan, especially travelling where water was a commodity. Shaking off the cobwebs of non-stick glory, Canary rolled up his sleeves and set to work.

First, he buried his hands in the soft, damp dirt. Pushing past the initial layer of leaves, he dug a hole a little deep than his wrist in height and 15cm, (~6 inches) in diameter. Hands stained with earth, he tossed pre-gathered kindling and wood into the pit and produced a small yellow lighter. Igniting the pit, he busied himself as it stabilised and gathered small rocks to encircle the pit. Task completed he placed a pan atop the rocks, allowing it to heat up and the fire to still be provided oxygen. The final preparation before dealing with his slain prey was to dig a smaller, hole a few steps away; to deal with leftovers.

Washing his hands with a small dollop of soap and water as frigid as Mimi, (one member of the other half of his team). Unsheathing a pairing knife and hatchet, the messy work was quickly dealt with and all, but the muscle, liver, and heart disposed of and covered over. Slicing the meat into strips and spraying the pan with canola oil, the sizzling and scent of cooking meat filled the air.

Washing his hands once more, he set about the hardest part of his day. "Wit~ time to wake up~", softly sand Canary.

As expected, he was found wanting. Resigned, he condemned himself to his fate. Soldiering forward, abandoning all pretences of stealth he marched forwards. Upper lip stiff he stared down the barrel of his nose and cracked his neck. The time had come.

A soft poke catalysed the daily ritual; thick corded limbs struck like vipers; snaking around his shoulders he was launched inwards and towards ground zero. Face impacting a wall of sinew and skin, braids grating against his smooshed cheek. Ear pressed onto thick skin he was afforded the privilege of a rumble rising from the depths of its ribcage.

"What's that smell?", rumbled a voice, as harsh as gravel.

"Breakfast. Killed a rabbi-," started Canary.

A flurry of limbs and speed sent him reeling, eyes rolling into his skull as he impacted a tree. Dropping with a harsh thump, his aura flared and kept his nose from shattering. Gritting his teeth, and sucking in air, he slowly pushed himself to a knee. Glaring at his partner, he fired a barb, "Good fucking morning to you too."

His partner, a hairsbreadth from devouring a meat strip, had the decency to look sheepish as she shovelled her face. "Sah-rey," replied Wit, mouth full.

Grumbling and whipping is scale mail coat and leggings to rid of any dirt, he pushed his hair from his face and approached. Wit, illuminated from the front by the small shafts of fire-light, squatted before the pan. Thick boots sunk into the ground under her heel, her black sweatpants and loose brown shirt covered the rest. Wit did not dress to impress. The only mildly impressive thing about her cosmetic choices lied in her hair in the forms of beads and braids the dotted the untamed mass.

"Sure, you are."

Sitting down and slowly losing his scowl despite her half-shrug, he fetched his paring knife and stabbed his strips onto the small blade. Biting into the tough meat, he internally lamented the lack of spices. Pushing past the fog of loose thoughts within his mind, he came to with a pair of eyes staring at him intently. A familiar song and dance had begun once more, "No," begun Canary.

"Please? I'm still hungry," she replied with practiced ease.

"Eat ya rations then," he said with similar grace.

Scrunching her nose in disgust she said, "But its gross, and I want meat. Please?"

Wit was stubborn, but Canary was hungry and more than a little peeved. A compromise was a necessity lest an argument breaks out, and it would break out. "I won't cave that easily Wit, not this time. What do I get if I give you my share?" he said, eyes narrowing and firm.

Sensing a change in atmosphere, Wit replied in kind, steepling in front of her face. "One chocolate bar," she said.

Cutting of a sharp intake through his nose, Canary replied, "I see. I suppose you have proof of this claim?"

Nodding her head, she fished in a similar bag in make to Canary's own. Brown packaging catching the sparse rays of light, a bar the size of Wit's palm was presented. Emblazoned in thick blocky and white writing stood 'Chuckles'.

"Make your move kid," said Wit.

"Hmmm," hummed Canary, teeth lightly biting his lip, "you've…got a deal," he finalised, hesitating.

"May the ground shake beneath your heel. Now pass me that before I pry it from your cold dead hands," growled Wit.

Quickly complying and pocketing the chocolate bar, he cracked a ration and begun consuming the tasteless brick of tough material. Noisily chewing, Wit asked, "How far out from Cinta are we?"

"Half a day, maybe a bit less? Enough time to scope the walls before dark at the minimum," said Canary, massaging his aching jaw lightly.

"Good. This trip has been shit," she said snagging another bite, "like, aren't there supposed to be Grimm everywhere or something?"

"Eh? I mean, Cinta went dark so that's probably where all the fuckers are…two people don't give off nearly as much negativity as a town," he stated, washing down the last of his meal with a swig of water from his canteen.

"' sides Wit, this ain't an extermination mission. It's a recon. Doubt we'll be doing any fighting, its why I didn't want ya to come along," said Canary.

"Hunting alone is how you die," a glare and scowl complimenting her tone.

"Mhm, I know. Its why I wanted Mimi to come," he stated, (Mimi being Vil's partner, both as a hunter and a lover).

"But he's pink," stated Wit, sagely nodding at this fact.

"And you're brown," he replied, raising an eyebrow

"That's racist."

"Racist? But you're no-," begun Canary.

"Vil complains enough as it is, and you wouldn't have to deal with her bitching twice as hard when you took her boy toy away," said Wit.

"Fair point, but have you seen the poor bastard? He's so whipped being near him makes me want to kiss the ground Vil walks. It's sad," Canary said.

"Excuse you? Do I need to cut a bitch?," snapped Wit, eyes narrowing and promising violence.

"Calm ya tits, it was a joke," he surrendered, hands raising to his chest.

Unfettered, Wit's eyes still contained their steely glint, prompting Canary to state, "Wit. Seriously. Femdom or whatever is their shtick, and I ain't into having my balls stomped on or whatever the hell they do."

Leaning back, Wit closed her eyes and sighed, and between chuckles said, "Yeah, with the way he was limping last week, I don't even want to know."

Smirking back, and quietly untying the knot of panic in his stomach, Canary took a swig of his flask, frowning as he finished his swig. "Running a little low on water, you?".

"Eh, enough. I'll be back, need to pee," she said, standing and hefting her weapon as she left.

"I'll start packing and stuff," he called to the retreating figure, eyeing the responding waving hand.

He removed the pans and scattered the rocks beneath it before kicking the pile of dirt over the fire, extinguishing it. With a light clang, he placed his warm, and sufficiently cooled pan away and gripped his paring knife. Eyeing his reflection and wincing at the small scattering of patchy facial hair that was coming in, he heard, "Get an eyeful Pup? Cause it's the last one you'll ever see."

Raising an eyebrow, and slowly turning his head, Canary slowly, but steadily in took through his nose.

Ten sockets of burning crimson floated amongst the morning shadows. Void black pools of oily fur rippled above an ocean of snake-like muscles. Jagged pillars of bleached bone rose from the depths and formed a fan of bone hackles along the creatures' backs. Four smaller, wolf-like maws filled with needle-like teeth rose into the air. In tandem, a harmony of howls shattered the morning's peace and quiet, eclipsed by a much deeper, guttural howl.

Springing forth Wit charged, grin jagged and full of teeth. Dodging a swipe of claws, she spun, bisecting the perpetrator and biting deeply into the tree behind it, with a crack and shower of splinters. Bleeding momentum, she grunted, kicking off the tree, ignoring the smoking corpse and tilting, felled tree, aimed towards Canary.

Cursing, Canary leapt left, drawing his bow and avoiding the tree that attempted to crush him. Wincing as dirt, and leaf litter impacted his right side from the impact of the fall. Drawing an arrow, he watched Wit engage.

Akin to its lesser brethren, this monster stood with similar, hunched humanoid posture, despite its impressive size of 3 metres, (10ft). Clad in thick bone plating, a protective layer covered most of its vitals, excluding eyes, throat, and joints. Its jaw, twice the size of Wit's own was locked in a wolfish grin, that was smashed into the ground beneath the might of Wit's axe.

Thick tar-like blood, bubbled, hissed and smoked away from a spiderwebbing of cracks as Wit cracked her neck, "Weak".

Afforded momentum by Wit, unembedding her axehead from its skull, and eyeing her throat, it struck. Teeth bared, it bull-rushed through Wit's hastily established defence and snagged her neck. Brown aura flexed and sparked barely stopping her windpipe from being crushed. It took the combined force of straining muscle and flickering aura to prevent her neck from snapping when it began shaking its head violently.

An arrow whistled through the air, skimming the edge of the eye socket as it embedded into the now, once vibrantly glowing eye. "Fuck are you doing Wit!? Just hit the cunt!", yelled Canary.

Emboldened, Wit wrapped her fingers around the Grimm's jaw, shivering at the feeling of its clammy, cold gums and heaved the jaw open. Reeling from the arrow, the Grimm's defence was mustered too late, and Wit escaped. A hair's breadth from its chest, she torqued her hips, and swung low, splitting her target's shin; forcing it to one knee.

"A little busy!", she yelled back, voice hoarse.

Unphased, the remaining three Grimm turned towards the bow-wielding huntsman. Running on all fours, two of the trio flanked his sides, and the final attempting to swallow his head.

Ducking a leftward claw, he collapsed his right leg to simultaneously avoid the snapping of the now overhead Grimm. His position afforded him two views of varying quality. The first was an eyeful of the Beowulf's crotch. The second was his partner tackling the alpha Beowulf, unsheathing a dagger from the small of her back.

Eyes flickering upward, he eyed the Beowulf as it reared back and made his move. Drawing an arrow from his quiver, he rammed it through the kneecap of the Grimm in front of him with a dull crunch. Springing and abusing the now injured Grimm's position, he sprung shoulder first into its stomach. As the Beowulf stumbled back and he followed, he attempted to jump right, and out of harm's way. As power built in his legs, and he leapt, an opportune claw raked across his back, narrowly avoiding his quiver. Green aura deflected the blow, through the force sent him spiralling mid-air.

Tucking into a tight ball and throwing his weight, allowed him to land feet first, with a flat-footed thumb that sent pain lancing through his legs and into his lower back and neck. His opponents were nothing if persistent, however; quickly closing the gap and the prone Grimm, dragging itself, leg limp.

Bobbing like a cobra, he avoided a strike aimed for his face and gripped another arrow. At such a close range, and tremulous position only a half-draw was necessary and feasible. Doing just that, an arrow snapped the leftmost Grimm from this life. Arrowhead burying itself in its neck. Before his second shot was drawn, the last standing Grimm attempted to bite him, aiming for the throat. Instinctively, he raised the arrow and grunted as the notch impacted his collarbone and the shaft snapped under the force of the now, self-impaled Grimm.

Saliva: thick, viscous and cold to the touch coated his hand-half wedged in the once alive Grimm. Eye to eye, he watched the light fade from its eyes and strained to contain the bile in his throat at the stench of its breath. Dropping the useless arrow and corpse in tow, he took in the final of his prey. Hunched and ready to pounce on all fours, well…threes…he easily avoided the reckless attack and lazily fired an arrow through the base of its skull.

Releasing a breath, he spied his partner, mounted atop a struggling Grimm. Her forearm, pressed against the base of the Alpha's jaw, forced its struggling head into the ground and leaving its neck exposed. Struggling, she repeatedly stabbed at its throat with her dagger clutching offhand. Supernaturally resilient, he watched in equal parts horror and fascination as its efforts finally ceased as she ripped off its head. Cut sinew and bone failed to resist the force of her heave, and with a bellow, she released a howl of her own, smoking head held aloft.

"Fucking hell, you wanna be any more brutal?", he said.

Dropping the head and leaping off the corpse, she tossed a smirk his way, "Was having fun".

"Right…How's the neck?"

She rubbed it lightly, "Sore,".

"Want a picture with him?", he asked, fetching his scroll.

"No, the pup was weak."

"Alrighty then," he grumbled, pocketing his scroll.

"Let's bug out, as bored as you maybe, I don't have infinite arrows," Canary called out, inspecting the rapidly smoking corpses for his arrows.

Not even deigning him with a civil response, she snorted, hefted her bag and his waiting. Accepting his bag and placing his two scavenged arrow back in his quiver, the pair set off.

"Hey Canary?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm hungry."


End file.
